


When There's Reckoning To Be Reckoned

by fihli



Series: "Hamilton" Cut Scenes [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, M/M, burr is in it for like .5 seconds just to antagonize alex, gilbert can braid, pretty lams but also pretty 'everyone is into each other', revolutionary ot4, they all share a tent because i can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6047841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fihli/pseuds/fihli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurens was the challenger, Hamilton was his (reckless, fervent) second, and they were going head to head with Charles Lee in the morning.</p><p>Between the events of "Stay Alive" and "Ten Duel Commandments", Laurens spends the night before his duel with friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When There's Reckoning To Be Reckoned

**Author's Note:**

> This is strictly in the universe of the musical, and not meant to be taken into historical context whatsoever! Although, you have to admit, if John, Alex, and Gil didn't share a tent, that's really a wasted opportunity on the part of the entire Continental Army. I'm looking at you, Washington.

_One… Two… Three… Four..._

John Laurens had never been challenged to a duel. He had never challenged anyone else to a duel. Hell, he'd never even been anyone's second in a duel. 

Being a relative newcomer to the adult world of duels, he wasn't sure what to expect, how to prepare, or how to practice. So he was in the tent he shared with Hamilton and Lafayette, taking ten paces and turning. He'd been at it for about an hour and a half. 

_Five… Six… Seven… Eight…_

Every time his nervousness started to build to a crescendo (every time his foot landed on _eight_ ), he only needed to picture Lee. The man he'd be dueling come morning, as soon as the seconds decided on a time. The man who had made so many uncontrolled, snide comments about General Washington that Alexander had to be ordered, by the general himself, not to challenge him. 

So Laurens did it. 

It wasn't hard for him to come to that conclusion, not in the heat of the moment, at least. The shock coloring Lee’s face, the barely suppressed triumph that came with Hamilton’s hand landing heavily on his shoulder, the loud whoop from Hercules. It was easy, surrounded by his friends --Lafayette tearing Lee apart in French so rapid that even Laurens didn't catch all of it-- to feel invincible. 

_Nine... Ten paces, turn, arm out, chest level, fire!_

Pacing alone in the tent made him feel less and less invincible with every footfall. 

_One… Two… Three… Four…_

It would be kept secret, of course. Lee and his second knew, Laurens and his second (Hamilton, who had agreed immediately) knew, they would alert a medic in the morning, and Hercules and Lafayette wouldn't say a word. It would eat away at both of them --the tailor and the Marquis were two of the most enthusiastic people that Laurens had ever met, Hamilton included-- but their binding duty would win out in the end. 

Laurens pivoted on _ten_ , raising his hand to chest level and miming a trigger-pull. Right towards Hamilton. 

“ _Alex_ , fuck--”

“What in God’s name are you doing, John?”

Laurens realized, a little belatedly, that his gun-shaped hand was still pointing at Hamilton’s chest. He lowered it, and Alex's eyes followed. 

“Getting in some practice?”

“It's all I can think about,” Laurens admitted. 

“I know what you mean.” Hamilton fell back onto a bed; not his, Lafayette’s. “I can’t get it off of my mind. It should be me, John, I wanted to challenge Lee. If he shoots you tomorrow--”

“I'm not getting shot tomorrow,” Laurens replied. “Have you seen Lee’s aim? We were both at Monmouth, weren't we?” 

Hamilton snickered before he remembered he was trying to appear serious. “John…”

“Don't worry about me.” Laurens sank into one of the chairs they had set up across the tent from the beds. “I challenged him on my own, Alexander; General Washington is my commander, too. Lee needs to learn a lesson. A swift my-boot-in-his-ass lesson.”

Hamilton snickered again, before glaring. 

“Stop making me laugh.”

“Stop laughing, then.”

Hamilton shook his head. “You’re a reckless idiot.”

“Really? _Me_? If anything I'm a solid rock of trustworthy brilliance. You're the reckless one.”

An imperious snort came from somewhere outside the tent. “You're both reckless and you're both imbeciles, and if Alexander is on my bed again I swear--”

Lafayette pushed his way through the tent’s heavy flaps, glare already fixed and aimed at Hamilton, who leaned back and put his feet up. 

“Gilbert, _mon cheriè_ …”

“Remove your filthy boots from my bed this _instant_ , you--” Lafayette halted and smirked, narrowing his eyes at Hamilton. “Or I won’t tell you who our friend, the lovely Charles Lee, chose as his second.”

“You know?” Hamilton shot upright, feet still on Lafayette’s bed.

“Who?” Laurens asked right on the tail-end of Hamilton’s question. “And if anyone’s reckless, it’s you. Brandywine? Ring any bells?”

“You cannot compare my injury at Brandywine to dueling a superior officer. No matter how much he, ah…”

“Has it coming?” Laurens suggested.

“Needs the shit beaten out of him,” Hamilton stated. Lafayette pointed at him.

“That one.”

“ _Ha_.” Hamilton stuck his tongue out at Laurens and relaxed back again, patting the bed next to him and gesturing to Lafayette with one hand all in the same moment. “Who’s Lee’s second?”

“Boots.”

Hamilton rolled his eyes and made a big show of pulling off his military issue boots, throwing one across the room at Laurens (who caught it and hurled it at the opposite wall of the tent), and the other at Lafayette, who hit it out of midair and went to sit with Hamilton on his bed. Laurens gave up on the chair and moved to the rug, leaning his head back until it was brushing Hamilton’s side.

“It’s Burr,” Lafayette said without much preamble.

“ _Burr_?” Hamilton shot upright again, knocking Laurens’ ponytail with the movement. “Aaron Burr. Princeton Burr. That Burr?” 

“Yes, Alexander, _mon Dieu_.” 

“They did this on purpose,” Hamilton seethed. “They know there’s no way I can come to an agreement with Burr. Lee doesn’t even intend to try and make peace, that son of a bitch!”

“Did you intend to make peace?” Lafayette asked, one eyebrow quirked. Hamilton’s cheeks reddened and Laurens couldn’t have stopped himself from grinning even if he wanted to.

“He has it coming, Gil, and you know it, that slimy little _fils de salope_ \--”

“Yes, Alexander, I heard you the first time.”

Hamilton took a heaving breath in and, without warning, carded his hands through Laurens’ hair, untying his ponytail with one movement. Laurens stiffened at first, unused to such an obvious show of affection from Hamilton, but as it continued he found himself relaxing back against the bed, closing his eyes and letting the stress leak out of his previously tense muscles.

“Hercules overheard Burr talking with whatever medic Lee found,” Lafayette continued. “He said that--”

“Alexander.” The unmistakable voice of Aaron Burr sounded from outside of the tent, accompanied by the almost imperceptible sound of a fist on canvas. “We need to confer.”

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Laurens heard Hamilton whisper. Lafayette snickered.

“Go on, _cherie_. Play nice.”

“What time do you want this to happen?” Hamilton asked, running his hands through Laurens’ curls one last time before he swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulled on Lafayette’s boots, and stood. “I’ll negotiate for whatever you want.”

“The earlier the better,” was all that Laurens could get out. His throat had become inexplicably dry. Hamilton nodded once, nudged Lafayette’s leg with his knee, and swept out of the tent, presumably straight into Burr’s back, because Laurens heard the other man grunt in surprise.

“Aaron Burr, _sir_ \--” was the last, rather menacing, thing that Laurens heard from Alexander before the two seconds left his range of hearing. Lafayette let out a longsuffering sigh.

“The day those two decide to duel will be the death of me.”

“Burr wouldn't,” Laurens replied. “He's too self-preserving for that. Alex, on the other hand…” Lafayette blew another breath out through his nose. 

“I'm surprised that our dear Alexander hasn't challenged most of the colonial army to a duel.” He resumed what Hamilton had been doing, brushing his long fingers through John’s curls. He wasn't as gentle as Hamilton had been, tugging and getting caught on snarls where Alex had been slow and careful. Either way, Laurens welcomed the contact. It took his mind off of things. 

Certain ten-step things with a smoking barrel at the end. 

He allowed his head to lean back slightly, giving Lafayette a better angle from which to brush his hair back. He felt more tugging in one place, wondered where the Frenchman had learned to braid, and leaned back further. 

“So. Gilbert. Have you gotten any letters from Adrienne recently?” 

Laurens didn’t find it surprising that at his question, Lafayette’s touch became more gentle, his fingers undoing the braid and sweeping through his curls, soft as a whisper. He knew almost nothing about Lafayette’s wife, save for that she lived in France, he wrote her almost weekly, and he lit up whenever she was mentioned. 

“Not since the last dispatch we received. I’ll be sure to send another soon, detailing every reckless move made by _monsieurs_ Hamilton and Laurens.”

Laurens smacked Lafayette’s hand away. “Don’t write your wife about us!”

“I don’t _write_ her about you, I _complain_ to her about you.”

Hamilton chose that moment to storm back into the tent, pushing the flaps aside (dramatically) and collapsing (dramatically) on the floor beside Laurens. 

“Aaron Burr is the worst human being I have ever--”

“So the duel’s still on,” Laurens interrupted.

“Oh, the duel’s on,” Hamilton snarled. “Tomorrow at dawn. And if you miss and hit Burr--”

Lafayette reached down and smacked Hamilton lightly on the forehead. He groaned and leaned against Laurens, laying his head on his shoulder. 

“Sorry, John, I’m not trying to make light of your duel, I’m just--”

“Gil complains to Adrienne about us,” Laurens said quickly, not trying to change the subject to anything other than his upcoming duel, but… Well, doing exactly that. “He writes her and tells her all the ways we _exasperate_ him.”

“John thinks you’re going to end up dueling Burr,” Lafayette jumped in, “he thinks you have no, ah, _conservation de soi_ \--”

“The marquis said he’s surprised you haven’t dueled half the army by now--”

“I’m about to duel both of you right now,” Hamilton said, throwing a halfhearted punch over his shoulder and presumably hitting Lafayette, because Laurens heard him yelp. Hamilton elbowed Laurens in the side, and he retaliated by grabbing the other man’s hair and pulling.

Laurens was in the middle of twisting Hamilton’s arm and trying to defend himself against Lafayette, when someone pushed his way into the tent.

“I’m staying here tonight.” Mulligan threw himself onto Lafayette’s bed, almost causing the smaller man to fall off. “If you have a problem with it, _you_ can share a tent with Burr.”

“Is he with Lee?” Hamilton scrambled to face Mulligan. “Are they talking about me?”

He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “You don’t want to know.”

Hamilton fell backwards, sprawling onto the rug. “Damn. I wish I didn’t respect the general as much as I do.” Mulligan laughed, his hearty, deep laugh echoing off the walls of the tent, and Laurens maneuvered himself until he was beside Hamilton again, facing the other two on the bed.

Hamilton lifted his head until it was resting on Laurens’ leg and Laurens figured it was his turn, so he started lightly scratching his fingers along Hamilton’s hairline. Mulligan yawned.

“Seriously though, it’s fine if I stay here tonight?”

Lafayette gestured at the expanse of the tent. “Our home is yours, _mon ami_.”

“Thanks.” Mulligan grabbed a pillow right out from under Lafayette’s head and was snoring within seconds. Lafayette pushed his shoulder.

“I didn’t say my _bed_ was yours, you selfish-- Ah.” He shrugged with one shoulder and settled down again, with his back to Hercules and using his arm as a pillow. Laurens went to run his hands through Hamilton’s hair again, and realized that he was breathing steadily, fast asleep. 

A blanket landed half on Laurens, half on Hamilton, and he looked up in time to see Lafayette wink at him before blowing out their lantern, plunging the tent into darkness.

Laurens, being extra careful not to wake Hamilton, moved until he was also laying on his back, draping Lafayette’s blanket over them both. Hamilton shifted in his sleep, pressing closer to Laurens.

The tent was quiet except for Mulligan’s snores and Hamilton’s soft breathing, and Laurens closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. This was perfect; Hamilton’s warm body on his left, their other friends not three feet away, all wrapped snug in a tent in the middle of a military camp, fighting for their freedom daily, a cause they all believed in. 

Except that tomorrow it could all go away, blown to oblivion with one shot of Lee’s pistol.

Laurens shifted unconsciously, and Hamilton moved his head.

“John?”

“Sorry, Alex. Go back to sleep.”

“Mm.” Hamilton made a bleary sleep noise, leaning his head on Laurens’ shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning. Lee’s going to… Going…”

Laurens never found out what Lee was going to do, because soon after Hamilton dozed off he did too, falling into a deep sleep filled with dreams of duels, dark, expressive eyes, and ink-stained fingers tangled in his curly hair.


End file.
